


Champagne’s Not Blue

by weepingnaiad



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>  Jim gets <i>ideas</i> from an alien mating ritual</p><p><b>Warning:</b>  watersports, mild</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne’s Not Blue

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** the most amazing and wonderful, hitlikehammers. I couldn’t have done it without you, hon!
> 
>  **A/N:** Fill for my kink bingo card square: _watersports_.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters and world belong to the Master himself, Roddenberry. I am only borrowing them so they can come out and frolic a bit, not intending any copyright infringement of any sort. I do own my original characters, but they are available for parties!

Spock cocked his head to the side and gave Jim _the look_. If McCoy hadn’t been so nervous, he would have laughed out loud. He loved it when Jim annoyed the hobgoblin.

“Spock, I got it. I read the briefing, twice. I understand that the Florians are a singularly possessive people when it comes to their mates. Definitely no touching. Careful with eye contact. _I got it._ ” Jim clapped Spock on the shoulder and joined the rest of the away team on the transporter pad. He winked at Leonard. “I’ll be home in time for supper, honey.”

McCoy grumbled and shook his head. “Dammit, Jim!”

Grinning as though this were shore leave instead of a potentially risky mission, Jim commanded, “Energize.”

A hush descended upon the transporter room before McCoy could bear to turn his head and look at Spock. “Just what are the consequences if he, or Scotty, or anyone else forgets themselves and touches someone’s mate, Spock?”

Spock turned to McCoy and answered in his calm, flat monotone. “Death.”

McCoy swallowed, his heart sinking. “Shoulda’ known. I’m—I’ll just get back to work, Spock.”

“Yes, we all should return to our posts.”

If McCoy didn’t know better, he’d think Spock was lingering in the transporter room, just like he was, worry clouding his senses. This little side trip for two dilithium crystals just screamed out _’Danger!’_

Reluctantly McCoy made his way to sickbay, but he couldn’t concentrate and finally Chapel ran him off, ordering him to take lunch _’and don’t come back until the Captain’s returned,’_ her exact words.

McCoy found himself attempting to read in their quarters, but even the latest book in his favorite series of holo novels couldn’t keep his attention. He tossed the PADD aside, grumbling.

“Spock to Doctor McCoy.”

McCoy leapt up from the sofa to the comm unit and clicked it on, his heart hammering. “Yeah, Spock? What is it?”

“You are needed on the surface. Please gather medical supplies and meet me in the transporter room.”

McCoy’s heart dropped. Jim might be able to read the Vulcan, but he couldn’t. “Who is it, Spock? Who’s injured?” he asked.

“No one, Doctor. The Florians are in need of your medical expertise. They have an unknown illness rampaging through their population and have demanded medical aid in exchange for the dilithium. The captain is convinced that you will be able to rapidly find a solution to the problem.”

McCoy grimaced. “I don’t know a damned thing about these people’s physiology, Spock! It could take weeks, or even years to find a cure!”

“I am aware, Doctor. Nevertheless, we are not in a position to argue. You will gather all of the physical data that you need and then return to the ship. The Florians are sending all the data they have compiled as we speak. I have made clear that you need everything they have to aid your research.”

McCoy sighed. “Fine. Let me stop by sickbay and I’ll meet you there.” He grumbled, but at least Jim was unharmed.

~~*~~

In the end, it had only taken six and a half days to find the cure for the virus that was decimating Floria. Once McCoy had learned that Florian doctors were required to remain single and chaste—but most importantly, _unclaimed_ —he relaxed in his dealings with them and was able to make slow, steady progress.

Now the vaccine was being replicated in mass quantities on the _Enterprise_ , ensuring that the weakest would be inoculated first while the Florians ramped up their own vaccine production. The celebratory festivities were behind them and McCoy was drained, bone tired with a slight buzz from the heady, sparkling Florian wine.

In gratitude, the Florians had lent the medical and command staff of the _Enterprise_ houses around a deep lagoon. They were stocked with provisions and isolated from the rest of the locals in a way that prevented any possible encounters that could spark trouble. In turn, Jim had authorized shore leave—two glorious days, forty-eight uninterrupted hours—for all of the medical and support staff that had worked straight through to find the cure, and they were taking every advantage of the time off.

So McCoy found himself outside the large communal house, the sounds of the raucous party quickly swallowed by the lush foliage as he followed the dimly-lit path around the lagoon and away from the rest of civilization. McCoy was too tired to sleep, too keyed up and restless. He finally stopped walking, his breath stolen, as he came to an opening in the trees. The small, maroon crescent moon reflected against the glassy depths of the lagoon. Its mirror-dark surface greedily swallowed the light from the wrong constellations, but gave back the moon’s weak glow.

The path continued on, turning back into the hidden gloom of the trees, but he veered off, his feet crunching on fine gravel as he walked, drawn to the shore. The lack of crickets, cicadas, frogs, all the sounds he associated with the night, was unnerving and McCoy was suddenly, intensely _homesick_. He missed Joanna, missed Georgia, even missed the sticky summer nights. The air here was thick with foreign smells, but strangely lacked anything he could hold onto.

Crouching down, he snagged a smooth, obsidian dark rock, rolled it between his fingers as he stood, tempted to break the glossy black surface, to see if the lagoon would reveal its secrets. Before he could lift his arm to skip the stone, he was wrapped in strong arms, pulled against a muscular chest, surrounded and held – by Jim. He sighed and his whole body uncoiled, relaxing into his world, his _home_.

“Jim,” he whispered, afraid of breaking the stillness.

“I missed you,” was breathed against his ear, the words warming him, easily dissipating his melancholy with their intent, with all that was unsaid.

McCoy let out a hushed sigh, and closed his eyes, shutting out the foreign world and sky. He was home now, as long as Jim was with him, holding him.

They stood like that for long minutes, McCoy’s head on Jim’s shoulder, their slow, even breaths and strong heartbeats the only sound in his ears. Somehow without a word, Jim knew what he needed, read him like a book, was there for him from the first moment on that shuttle when he teased, laughed, and cajoled McCoy from his fear.

“You think too much when you drink champagne, Bones.” Jim’s arms tightened and McCoy felt his neck prickle with a slight flush.

“Can’t help it,” he grumbled. “Besides, that was _not_ champagne. Champagne’s not blue.”

Jim chuckled against his cheek, his hands beginning to roam. “So stop thinking. Just feel.”

“That an order, Captain?” he grumbled, their words still low, lest they disturb some hidden giant, some monster in the depths of the lagoon. McCoy’s thoughts made him shiver.

“If it has to be. You need to learn to let go.”

“I don’t ‘let go’, kid. That’s for fools who leap before they look.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, McCoy regretted them. He felt Jim’s muscles tense, had forgotten who was holding him, what position he was in, and just how near he was to a large body of all too tempting water.

McCoy barely shouted out a ‘Fuck!’ before he felt the warm water cover his head. He swam for the surface, growling, spluttering, his eyes shooting fire at the man who was grinning like a loon on shore, _far_ up shore.

“You are so dead, you asshole!”

“Ah, c’mon, Bones. That the best you can do?” Jim was egging him on, taunting him with those bright blue eyes and knowing smirk.

McCoy flung himself out of the water. He was heavy and waterlogged, his boots squelching as he slowly and deliberately stalked toward Jim. “You should run,” he growled as he pushed clinging hair away from his face.

Jim planted his feet and crossed his arms, daring him. Fucking _daring_ him with that smug grin. “Nope. Not going anywhere. Whatcha’ gonna do about it, _old man_?”

McCoy tackled him with fierce desperation even though it was a lost cause. He was no match for Mr. Hand-to-Hand, brawler extraordinaire, but he also wasn’t above fighting dirty, above using the fact that Jim was altogether too ticklish, and easy to subdue when he couldn’t breathe for laughing.

They rolled in the dirt, struggled, laughed, and finally, even with all his best efforts, they ended up half in the water, Jim over him, holding his arms to the ground, all bright eyes and triumphant smiles, and McCoy laughed, brightly, in answer. “You asshole.”

Jim leaned down and kissed him, pressed his awakening, interested body against McCoy’s, ground down until he forced a groan from McCoy’s lips. “I want you, Bones. Need you. Been watching the Florians, want everyone to know you’re mine.”

McCoy looked up at Jim, blinked in wonder, and smiled crookedly. “Jim, I wear your ring, share your quarters. We’re ‘next of kin’ on the official documents. What the hell else do you want?” He’d do anything Jim asked, always had, and it touched him, made the last shards of his shattered heart fuse back together, whole once again, made so by his bright eyed captain.

“The ring someone else made, the papers are just digital bits that can be hacked. I want to claim you, mark you, like the Florians do.”

McCoy swallowed, his throat dry. Jim was staring at him hungrily, possessive, eyes so intense that he couldn’t breathe, was lost in their depthless blue. He inhaled sharply and licked his lips, worried the bottom one with white teeth before swallowing again. “Jim, you don’t have the physiology…”

Jim interrupted, pressed a soft kiss to his bruised lip. “I can’t mark your body with wide swaths of blue, can’t make such a visible claim, but I _can_ mark you with my scent, claim you, just like cats on Earth. Let me?”

Like McCoy could ever resist Jim, especially when he looked like that.

It didn’t help that Jim’s voice, his words, his desire to _own_ McCoy made his cock throb and his groin tighten. Fuck him if he didn’t want Jim to do just whatever he wanted. Instead of speaking, he wrenched his hands from Jim’s grasp and wrapped them tightly around his waist, pulled him close and proceeded to suck the air from his lungs as their hips gyrated together.

Jim groaned and growled, panting as he tore his mouth away. He sat up and shed his shirt, stopping McCoy’s hands when he reached for his shirt tail. “Mine.” McCoy nodded, sitting up to allow Jim to peel his sodden shirt off, shivering as night air met wet skin. Jim embraced him, wrapped him up in strong arms, his warm, dry chest blocking the air. They kissed, long and leisurely until McCoy was so hard and needy, he whimpered when Jim pulled away.

Jim tugged them to stand and then dropped to his knees before McCoy, his hands sliding reverently down McCoy’s torso before stopping at his waistband. He made quick work of the fastenings, but struggled with removing the wet pants and boots. But finally McCoy stood naked in the moonlight, Jim’s eyes too worshipful for him to be self-conscious. “Jim!” he gasped when he was swallowed to the root.

McCoy bucked up into Jim’s mouth, his hands struggling for purchase, straining not to thrust, not to push Jim forward further as he ran his hands through Jim’s short hair. Jim grabbed his ass and kneaded the cheeks as he sucked and swallowed, drove McCoy to the edge before pulling off with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck!” McCoy stuttered, swaying. Jim helped him down, laid him out on their discarded clothes, knelt over him, looking his fill.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” Jim breathed. “Laid out for me, like this. I can do anything to you and you’d let me.”

McCoy sucked in a halting breath and couldn’t find the words. He met Jim’s eyes and nodded. _’Anything.’_

“You’re mine. I’m going to mark you, claim you. No one else can have you, touch you, see you like this.”

Jim began to fist his cock with long languid strokes; his eyes kept McCoy pinned, the gaze never faltering as his hand sped up. He bit his lip, stifled a moan, but kept those eyes boring into McCoy’s very soul as his orgasm overtook him. His body jerked and he uttered a soft cry of _’Bones!’_ as he spilled on McCoy’s chest, fat drops falling from McCoy’s cock to his chin.

McCoy wanted to reach up, to tug Jim close, to arch into him, gain his own release, needed it, but Jim smiled, eyes unfocused but still dark, possessive, so McCoy stilled, didn’t move. Stayed put, his body tense, wondering what was next as he drew in a harsh breath.

“Not done with you, Bones.”

McCoy trembled as Jim reached out, began to rub his come into McCoy’s skin. “Mine. You’re mine and you’re going to smell like me.” Jim stroked sticky fingers along his cheeks, gathered a dab from his chin and pressed his finger to McCoy’s lips. He opened, sucked it in, wrapped his tongue around the probing digit, lapped up the tangy essence, sucked harder, moaning, his hips arching, needing friction.

“God, so hot, Bones!” Jim gasped, pressed down, and let McCoy arch up into his softening cock.

He pulled his finger away, shook his head, and sucked in a great lungful of air. “You. Fuck.” Jim skated wide palms over McCoy’s chest, flicked his nipples, slid his hands down McCoy’s ribs, pausing for a moment to gently caress the scar on the second one, left by a vengeful dagger; a near-miss that had scared Jim, had been the moment they both knew. McCoy lifted his hand, covered Jim’s and shook his head. He was here and not going anywhere. There was no need to dwell on what could have happened. It hadn’t.

McCoy tugged Jim’s hands lower, urged them to encircle his cock, wrapped his own around Jim’s as he stroked. It was too dry, too sticky, but still felt so fuckin’ good.

Jim gasped, shook his head, gave McCoy’s cock a firm squeeze then stopped. “Not yet, Bones. Not yet.”

McCoy whimpered, but let his hands be pushed away, moved them above his head and waited.

Jim lifted to his knees, straddling Bones’ hips. He licked his palm, slow and teasing as his eyes smiled at McCoy. “I watched that ceremony, watched that Florian’s body slowly covered in wide swathes of blue, watched him arch and moan, begging to be claimed and all I could think about, all I could see was you up there, writhing under me, Bones.”

Jim reached for McCoy, took him in his wet palm, stroked him slowly, teasingly, but so perfectly, pulling a gasp from his throat.

“I met the claimed Florian later. Talked to him, asked him about it, about being claimed, and you know what he said? He told me that it made him feel safe, loved, that he’d never have to worry about being alone, ever again.” Jim stopped stroking, licked his palm again, and returned to fisting McCoy. “I want to make you feel that way. Want to show you how much I love you, that you’re mine, and I’m never going to let you go.”

McCoy saw Jim’s chest stutter, saw his left hand grab his half-hard cock, and he _knew,_ knew exactly what Jim had planned, what he was asking to do and what McCoy had agreed to as he mouthed out a silent, _’Yes!’_. Even if he was a doctor and knew that it was sterile, there was still something in him that said _dirty, wrong,_ but his body arched up, met the hot stream. He cried out, his body tightening, his release slamming into him as Jim let go, come and piss mingling on his chest, his groin, splattering on his neck and face. The world stopped for an instant and then he crashed back to reality, a sharp shiver striking his limbs as cool night air blew over his wet torso.

He blinked a few times, took him a minute to figure out that Jim was on all fours, his head drooping, as he breathed in great gasping breaths. “Fuck me, but that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You. If you could only see yourself.”

McCoy’s limbs were rubbery, but he chuckled weakly before narrowing his eyes and giving Jim a great shove into the water. McCoy quickly dove in after him and they tangled together in the water, kissing languidly as they floated.

“Couldn’t wait to wash me off?” Jim teased.

McCoy gave Jim a shy smile; he wasn’t sure how to answer him, if he wanted to verbalize just how deeply Jim’s possessiveness had affected him. He shook his head. “Still have over forty-two hours of shore leave left, darlin’. We got time.”

Jim nodded, agreed. “All the time in the universe, Bones. All the time.”

The End


End file.
